Jenna lay still for a long while after Kaelion left, the silence in the room thick as fog. Her heart still hadn’t settled from his words.
“For every tear they made you shed, I will make them beg.”
She should’ve felt fear. Or revulsion. But instead, something darker curled in her chest. Hope. Dangerous, bloody hope.
She buried her face in the sheets to drown it.
The knock at the door jolted her.
Before she could say anything, it opened.
A woman entered — tall, stern, elegant, her posture straight as a blade. Behind her, three younger women followed, each carrying folded garments, steaming cloths, and wooden bowls filled with scented water. Maids.
The older woman’s eyes scanned Jenna from head to toe. Not cruel. Not soft either. Just… assessing.
“I’m called Myra,” she said, her voice
